Songs of Sorrow
by Elfique
Summary: Many were parted due to the Oath of Feanor, this is my take on what happened to Maglor and his wife.


_Note: I am on a quest to write a fic of any length for each son of Fëanor (as they are all so tragic, intriguing and above all, handsome). Maglor was my second project as this idea had come so easily. Mírëwen is my own character but I am pretty sure that I've read somewhere Maglor's wife stayed in Valinor. Sorry it's a bit long but I couldn't really split it into two chapters. Read and enjoy, feedback welcomed! _

Songs of Sorrow

Greys, dull blues, faded mauves, hints of green and pale shores. All the colours that once were, have fallen in front of his eyes; all that was once worth living for has gone. Ceaseless dirges escape his lips; lamentations are wailed along the empty shore but all disregard them as noises the sea makes in its various moods.

A gaunt and hollowed face looks beyond the sea to something that cannot be seen, wind whips strands of black hair across the skeletal face and drowns out the noise of his current song. He pauses until the wind dies down and briefly looks at his scalded hands, then again he starts to sing. There is something different about the song; he seems surprised, the tune is almost lively, the words loving. Care is in his tone but still his beautiful voice is marred by sorrow.

He has remembered what meaning the song carries…remembered to before the sorrow, when he was once warned of what his songs would become.

* * *

Mírëwen slowly opened her eyes, her face was close against her beloved's chest; she longed to lay there still, his arms about her, but it could not be. Hesitantly she moved away from him, careful not to wake him; he could not know until it was too late for him to do anything. As she sat up, Mírëwen's gaze fell upon the armour and sword laid out for him to wear and there was a pang in her heart…how did this all come to pass?

Rising from the bed she hurried to find a dress; outside the bed it was cold and she quickly dressed. The ties at the back of her lilac dress were proving difficult to do up by herself; normally her love would have tenderly aided her but no longer. After a brief struggle Mírëwen had managed and quietly she opened a drawer in one of the chests in the room. Hidden under random sketches she had made, she found the letter she had prepared long before. Not letting her eyes linger on all her sketches of her love she hurriedly shut the drawer. Later, when she knew she would have need for them, she would collect them with her other belongings.

As she placed the letter on her pillow, Mírëwen had to lean down slightly. The action brought her head next to that of her beloved, the temptation for one last kiss or touch rose inside her. The emotions were fought off, she could not risk waking him; it could break them both if he did. Tearing her eyes away from his perfect face, Mírëwen walked towards the door to their room.

"Where are you going?" the concern in his melodic voice prevented her from running through the open doorway. With much trepidation Mírëwen closed the door and turned around. His eyes were on the letter on her pillow before they quickly looked up to her, in them she saw the hurt and confusion. He rose from the bed and moved towards her, his hair was slightly dishevelled from the previous night and it fell across his bare chest; Mírëwen couldn't avoid looking at him.

"So you are not coming…" it seemed he could find nothing else to say

"I am sorry," she managed to whisper "you were not meant to wake, you were not meant to even consider leaving these shores… and I am not meant to leave."

Even though Mírëwen was breaking his heart, he drew her into his arms as she began to cry, he stroked the tresses of her black hair comfortingly as he spoke to her.

"Why would leaving be so bad? Being somewhere else would not stop our love, we could have our own realm…a new life together!" Mírëwen forced herself not to be tempted by his pleas for her to stay with him; her dreams of the future were too realistic and she would not see them happening in reality.

"I have dreamt often…that all your songs would turn to sorrow. That all we once held dear faded before us, I will not see that happen to you, I cannot." Mírëwen carefully tried to explain to him.

"But what of our song?" he was shocked at her words; if her dreams were to become reality he surely would not forget their song. The song he had written as a proposal to her, a song of his love.

"No!" she cried, equally horrified at the thought that their song could be forgotten "That will never happen, for I believe our love is too strong. But I will not let myself hear any songs that you sing in sorrow. It would ruin us."

Sadly nodding in understanding he drew her close again, he found himself holding back his tears. "There are some hours left…" he murmured, before bringing his lips to hers. Mírëwen did not try to stop herself kissing him back, his hands moved up to the ties on her dress and she felt herself being moved in the direction of the bed.

"No," she whispered softly, staying his hands "I said farewell last night. Please, do not make this harder than it has to be." Slowly he began to redo the ties on her dress as she clung to him, for the last few precious moments.

When he had finished they walked hand in hand to the door, opening it, he stepped aside to let her out. Leaning towards him for the last time, Mírëwen brushed her lips against his.

"Farewell, Maglor. Fulfil your oath; my love is with you."

* * *

The fading sunlight that comes just before dusk lit up the painting she was hanging on the wall. It had taken her a few weeks to complete…painting it from an old sketch she had made when her lover had been blissfully unaware of the scratching of her stick of coal on parchment, as he had slept.

They had told her he and his brother had strove till the end to fulfil their oath that had killed many and broke the hearts of others. Though his actions had been wrong, though he did not take his chance to return to her; she could never feel anger towards him. Quietly singing a beautiful tune to herself, she admired her work.

Contact can be lost, yet love and memory are eternal.

_Yet another note: I feel I have to apologise for the last sentence...I'm pretty sure its corny trash but oh well. Very sorry._


End file.
